


Worse Than Nicotine

by QuickCharade



Series: Back To You [2]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural Novels - Various
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Smut, Romance, Supernatural season 13
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-08-20 21:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickCharade/pseuds/QuickCharade





	1. a different world.

Amazing. This is just _brilliant_.

            When I pushed Lucifer – and myself – through that rift, I wasn’t thinking. Jack – the Nephilim – had just been born, Kelly was dead, Cas returned through the rift only to be stabbed and killed by Lucifer— I just wanted to get Lucifer away from Sam and Dean. I’m reckless by nature and acted on that plan without thinking.

            Of course, I didn’t think it would be too bad. Lucifer and I aren’t exactly best friends, but he’s never hurt me. Don’t be mistaken, he’s never been nice. The snarky comments make up for him never laying a finger on me, I suppose. But that still doesn’t change the fact that he is _Lucifer_. Nor does it reverse all of what he did to Sam.

            He’s not a good guy in my books, period. But it meant getting him away from Sam and Dean, so I did it.

            I wasn’t – I’m still not – in my best headspace either, but that’s irrelevant. Lucifer was away from Sam and Dean, and that was all that mattered.

            Until we ran into Michael. Well, this world’s Michael. Not the guy who almost wore Dean to the Apocalypse, but a different one. He’s a bit of an asshole.

            Well, a big asshole. A tyrant of this world.

            This world’s Michael said he killed Lucifer – his Lucifer.

            But when he looked at me…I can’t describe the look he had in his eyes. Or the feeling that I got – not a good feeling, I know that much. But something struck him. Like he could see right through me.

            Terrifying, really.

            So now, I am here. In some sort of holding cell.

            But it’s not that, really. When I think of a holding cell I think of a jail cell. I’ve been in those before. But this is different. It’s a room in what used to be an old church, I’m assuming, but it’s where Michael and his men hide out. They have their own place, not that they need one. Everyone here is deathly afraid of Angels. The Angels here are almost the level of Demons or regular monsters back home. These Angels _are_ monsters, from the looks of things.

            There’s one window in here at least. Not that the outside world is pretty, but at least it’s a window. But the window is barred…so.

            I’m basically a prisoner here. I’ve thrown myself against the door so many times my shoulder is sore now. It’s locked shut tight, probably with some spell work.

            I settle down into what looks like a bed. It’s not comfortable at all, but it’s what I have, and I’m exhausted.

            No sooner than I have laid down, though, the door opens to reveal Michael.

            He’s a lot different than I think I was expecting. Maybe because the last time I saw a Michael, he was using our half-brother Adam for a vessel. This one…he’s much different. Darker, more cynical – sadistic, even. He wears a long coat and a face that just screams that he knows he is invincible and powerful.

            He’s cocky. And I’ve hated every minute I’ve spent with him.

            “What do you want?” I grumble, moving to lean back against the wall.

            “I wanted to come see that you had settled in,” Michael replies. “Joy, was it?”

            “Yeah. Joy Winchester.”

            He nods. “Winchester. I’ve heard that name once before.”

            “Let me guess,” I crack a smile. “Right now?” I can’t help it. Ever since I realized none of them can hurt me, the comments I make are free range. They’ll have to get used to the snark.

            “You have an adequate sense of humor,” he pauses, nearly glaring at me, “but no.”

            I raise my eyebrows. Okay, then.

            “Joy, do you know what you are? What your brothers in that other world are?”

            “Idiots?” I muse.

            “Vessels,” he replies dryly.

I can tell I’m irritating him, but hell, he’s irritating _me_. It’s been almost a week and I’ve had little to no sleep, I’ve hardly eaten (not by their fault, but because my appetite hasn’t been the biggest), and I’m ready to throw myself off a cliff. I’m exhausted. And talking to boss man over here isn’t helping.

“Vessels for distinct Angels,” he continues. “I’ve heard the name Winchester before because I have heard the stories. It is no secret that Dean is my Sword or that Sam’s is Lucifer’s vessel. But what has been a secret…is you.”

I lean my head back against the wall closing my eyes. “Are you done yet?”

“You think this is a game.”

I open my eyes, glaring at the archangel in front of me. “I’m an accident. A pure accident. I’m not special. And I’ve been a secret because I was dead for seven years, but voilà, I’m back. And now I’m in this shithole of a world, talking to you—or actually listening to you talk about some random bullshit that makes no sense.”

He doesn’t seem fazed at all by my outburst, but then again nothing fazes him anyway. “That answers my earlier question.”

“What question?”

He almost smiles. “You don’t know what you are.”

I shake my head. “I’m the youngest of three Winchester siblings. I’m a reckless idiot. That’s about all I got.”

“You are the Perfect Vessel, Joy.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“The perfect vessel for any Angel. You are built to be a vessel. Any Angel will surpass their power when they are inside of you.”

“Ew, okay, that just sounds wrong.”

He blinks.

“What?” I almost laugh. “You expect me to buy that bullshit?” I scoff. “You think just because your vessel is weak you can sell me something you pulled out of your ass and I’ll suddenly say yes to being your vessel? You’re out of your damn mind.”

“I never told you my vessel was weak.”

“Please,” I chuckle. “I can feel it rolling off of you. You’ve been in that body for too long.”

It’s not something new to me, being able to sense when an Angel is weakened. I could feel it before I died, even. But I never mentioned it. The last thing I needed was a round two of being called a freak from Dean with a new set of insults to go with. It never harmed me, so I kept it to myself.

“And why do you think, Joy, that you can sense when an Angel’s vessel is weakening?”

“I don’t know,” I laugh, but it’s awkward. I know what he’s getting at. “Lucky sixth sense?”

I want it to be that. For it to be just something random I acquired. It has to be. Cas never…Cas never said anything about it to me, or Sam and Dean. If he told them, we would’ve had a conversation about it. He would’ve said something if he knew, right? All of them would have. Even Zachariah, right? He never mentioned a Perfect Vessel, just that I could be Michael’s vessel if it came down to it. Sam and Dean never let me, obviously, but that was all that was said.

Nothing I’ve ever read has even mentioned a Perfect Vessel. It would have somewhere. It would have had to mention something somewhere. Come on.

“And why do you suppose I have you here, instead of in iron shackles like Lucifer?”

I don’t have an answer. My thoughts are reeling. There’s no way this is true.

“Why do you believe I have yet to inflict harm on you? Or even consider such a thing?”

I lick my lips. He’s just trying to get into my head with this.

_I’m telling you the truth._

My eyes snap to his in shock.

“And you can hear me when I speak in my native tongue,” he pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Interesting.”

“The last one doesn’t mean anything.” My defense is weak. “I studied Enochian for years.” That’s the full truth. Once we found out Angels were real, that’s how I passed the time. Reading old Enochian texts, studying the language. It’s always fascinated me. That’s no secret.

“Many do,” he nods. “But none are able to hear the Angels talking. Studying Enochian and being able to hear the Angels are two drastically different things.”

And I know that. I met someone before, a Hunter who studied Enochian as well. She said it was useful in getting to them, summoning them and all, but she could never hear them on Angel Radio. Not like I could – _can_.

I could sometimes before I died, but not all of the time. There were too many voices to sift through in those days, but I could pick out a few. Castiel was distinct as always, along with a few others.

I clench my jaw. “So what does it mean? If I am this so-called Perfect Vessel?”

“It means you are to be protected,” he replies simply. “Because one day soon I will need you.”

It then dawns on me. The reason no Angel – Lucifer or Michael or anyone else – will hurt me. Only for their personal gain, but the realization still smacks me in the chest. They need my consent. So they won’t hurt me in a desperate attempt to keep a low level of trust.

Brilliant.

            “I won’t,” I mutter finally. “I’d rather die than be your vessel.”

            “You won’t have much of a choice,” he answers, and then without hesitating, he vanishes from the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.


	2. after everything that’s happened.

Dean is speeding. A hell of a lot faster than he should be going, but he's pissed. He can barely think with everything he's just witnessed.

"We still have holy oil, right?"

Sam turns to look at his brother, the question being the first thing Dean's said in the past hour. "For what?"

"'Cause we're gonna have to hit him with everything we got," Dean replies, like it's obvious.

Sam nods then, understanding. The Nephilim, Jack, was born just hours ago. And naturally, Dean's first instinct is shoot first, ask questions later. He plans to kill the kid before even trying to talk to him about what's going on.

"Hold on a second," Sam presses. "Can we just talk about what happened back there?"

But Dean doesn't want to. All he can see is red. "Sure. Which part? Let's see, Crowley's dead, Kelly's dead, Cas is..." Dean shakes his head, not being able to bring himself to say the words. "Joy's gone, and apparently the Devil's kid hit puberty in 30 seconds flat."

Dean isn't exactly wrong. The Nephilim that threw the brothers back against the wall was nowhere near a newborn baby. He already looked like he was a young adult in a matter of minutes.

"Oh, and he almost killed us," Dean adds. 

"Yeah, because you tried to shoot him," Sam points out, leaning his head against his hand.

"I tried to shoot the monster, Sam. That's kind of what we do."

"We don't know what he is yet, Dean," Sam argues. "And I had it under control." 

"I'm sorry, are you defending the Son of Satan?" 

"I'm not defending anything! I'm just saying, look, with everything that's happened, I'm obviously spun out too, but we need a plan."

"Yeah, kill him! Okay? That's the plan. Look, right now all that matters is finding him and ending him before he hurts anybody else. And once we do that we'll figure everything else out."

The statement hangs in the air around the brothers. Everything else. Everything else, meaning, how to get Cas back, how to figure out what's going on with Jack, and how the hell to get Joy back into this universe.

Further down the road, they come across Pirate Pete's Jolly Treats, and Sam immediately tells Dean to stop the car. 

Dean pulls into the parking lot – or lack thereof – and slams Baby into park. "You really think that he was like, 'Before I destroy the world, let me just grab a bag of curly fries.'" 

Sam waves his brother's annoyance away. "If Jack kept to the main road he would've past it and I don't know—"

"Fine. Just make it quick."

"You're not coming?"

"No. Look, maybe you're right. Maybe the Devil's kid is in there just hanging on, okay? Or maybe he's halfway across the country, torching Chicago." Dean shakes his head. "I'm gonna call Jody, check in, see if she can't help us put a nationwide APB out on a...creepy Satanic nudist.” 

"Yeah, right, good."

"'Good' is not the word I'd use."

But as soon as Sam exit's the car, Dean doesn't call Jody. He never was going to. Instead he walks around the back of Pirate Pete's, close to the edge of the lake where he has some privacy. And he does something he hasn't in a very long time.

Pray.

"Okay, Chuck...or God or whatever. I...I need your help. See you – you left us. You left us. You went off...You said...you said the Earth would be fine because it had me and it had Sam, but it's not, and we're not. We've lost everything. And now you're gonna bring him back," Dean's voice cracks again. He still can't bring himself to believe Cas is really gone this time. "Okay? You're gonna bring back Cas, you're gonna bring back our sister – you're gonna bring 'em all back. All of them. Even Crowley. 'Cause after everything that you've done, you owe us, you son of a bitch. So you get your ass down here, and you make this right. Right here and right now." 

The tears sting Dean's eyes by the time he finishes his tirade. He shuts his eyes tight, tight enough to push back the tears, tight enough that maybe he'll wake up from this dream with Joy banging pots and pans together and spraying him with silly string and telling him he's late for breakfast. 

But he opens his eyes and he's still here. Cas is still gone. And Joy isn't standing beside him anymore. 

He knows she pushed Lucifer through that rift for them. He knows she did it so they would have one less thing to worry about – or so she thought, because now they're worried about her and wondering if she's even alive. But he knows she did it because she wanted to do something good. She wanted to try and show them that she could do something good, after everything that happened. 

And after all this time, Dean never got the chance to tell her how much guilt he's carried around for years. From all the times he said he hated her, from all the times he said he wished she hadn't been born, and from the time they found her dead...in the motel room.

They didn't know why she had made that deal. Or that it was a deal in the first place. But all Dean knew was that she made that deal thinking the world – her brothers would be better off without her.

He knows she pushed Lucifer through that rift with the same mindset. Thinking they would be better off with her out of their hair.

And Dean wishes – Dean prays that somehow, he'll see his little sister again, just so he can tell her how much he regrets everything. And how badly he feels. Because he'll never be able to forgive himself for making her think the world would be better off without her. And now he'll never be able to forgive himself for this.


	3. that will be you.

It's been months. Almost six, exactly, if my counting is correct and tally marks on the wall are not screwed.

I'd like to think my brothers are looking for me. But at this point, I am losing hope. And judging by the looks of the universe around me, I have to be glad they aren't here. This world is different, a lot darker. There isn't a day when a storm isn't raging in the sky. And there's not a single day that I don't hear about another execution of traitors.

The Angels are executing those who are part of the Resistance against Michael. The first time I heard, I wanted desperately to turn Angel Radio off. It was much quieter back home. Here, there's so many of them talking. I can hear Michael, he is the most distinct, and I suppose his tyranny has something to do with that. But there are few others I can pick out. Zachariah, is one. But not many.

It's too loud.

Michael comes in every day. "Checking in" on me.

But his check-ins are not as pleasant as the name suggests. His presence does something to me, I don't know if it's his weakened vessel or the warding this place has, but something makes me dizzy. The warding has me in a haze anyway, only because it's some stronger than I've ever experienced before.

It's strong enough to hurt me. I never came across anything like that back home.

But it is here. And I am forced to listen to Michael drone on about his plans every single day.

But today is different.

Today I don't have time to think before he's inside my head, snooping around, seeing things I wish he wasn't able to.

And I can hear myself talking. Every word involuntarily spilling from my mouth.

Then suddenly, it stops.

I blink quickly, the world around me coming back into view. Michael standing in front of me, lowering his hand with a smug smirk plastered across his lips.

"What was that?"

"Hitched a ride on your temporal lobe," he replies, beginning to pace the room like he always does. "Saw your world. The paradise you left behind." He pauses, tilting his head. "I believe I'll take up residence. Lend my guiding hand."

Despite the haze, I feel myself rolling my eyes. "Right, because you did such wonders with this world here."

Michael ignores me. "I saw what you're afraid of," he stops pacing, giving me a look. "I saw the man you love."

 _Loved_ , I want to scream. Past tense.

"You're afraid of being abandoned."

"Who would've guessed?"

"You still think this is funny."

"I think you're an asshole," I fire back. "An asshole who thinks he can do anything he wants to me and I'll give in just because I'm the Perfect Vessel." I take a deep breath, slowly gaining my senses again. "Just because that's what Destiny says I am, doesn't mean I have to play the part. I'd rather die than be any Angel's vessel."

Michael eyes me. "You say that every time I come here."

"What?"

"That you'd rather die," he clarifies. "I saw that, too. You think dying is the only answer. That is the one thing you are no longer afraid of."

"I'm not even supposed to be alive," I mutter. "I made that deal so I would stay dead, so I would stop making stupid decisions. I'm not supposed to be here."

"But yet you are." He begins pacing again. "You will come around, Joy. When I am in your world, I will need a new vessel – one strong enough to withstand a different atmosphere." He pauses, looking me directly in the eyes. "And that will be you."

He leaves without another word, always making sure he has the last word of every conversation we have. And I no longer have the energy to argue.

These walls seem to move closer and closer together every day that I am here. The warding only seems to chip away at the last bit self-awareness I have. The dreams of Ketch – the man I used to think was everything – have only become so frequent I sometimes wake thinking he is here.

Maybe Michael is right.

I don't know how much more of this I can take. And if Sam and Dean aren't looking for me, then what is the point of me being here?

I've heard of what it's like to be possessed by an Angel. I've heard sometimes it flies by, you don't even realize it. I've heard they create a safe space for you, in your head, a paradise of sorts to keep you occupied while they use your body as a vessel. I'm not saying Michael is that nice. But I'm also not saying he wouldn't not put me in a paradise if it meant keeping my sarcastic comments subdued while he parades around in my body.

Am I seriously considering this?

I want to scream at myself for the consideration, but something about it doesn't seem so bad. Compared to the way I am living right now, it doesn't seem bad.

And if he put me in a Paradise Land, maybe I would see Sam and Dean again. Maybe...

Maybe I'd get to see Ketch – not Ketch, Arthur. Ketch was a stone-cold soldier. Arthur was the man I loved, the man that took care of me. Arthur was warmth. Arthur felt a lot like home.

Maybe I'd get to have that again.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.


	4. imagine.

_kiss me and take off your clothes/imagine a world like that/love how my face fits so good in your neck/why can’t you imagine a world like that?_

I stretch my legs out, my feet knocking into someone else's. I open my eyes out of curiosity, a smile settling over my lips when I see Arthur's sleeping face — content. He looks content.

I take a deep breath, wrapping an arm around his waist, settling back into his warmth, resting my head on his bare chest. I feel him stir beneath me, but I close my eyes, letting his arm tighten around me and lull me back to sleep.

I wake some time later with the sun streaming through the curtains, lighting up the room just enough that Arthur wakes up before I do. I feel his hand softly stroking my arm, just idly like he always does, letting me know he's here and I'm safe.

I open my eyes to see his face, and he's smiling down at me. Whispering a hoarse, "Good morning, love."

And I melt. I always melt.

"Good morning," I reply, just as soft, grabbing his hand and holding it against my face. "I love you."

"I love you," he murmurs, his thumb stroking my cheek. "But you need to wake up."

"What?"

He smiles sadly. "It's time to wake up."

_I’m dreaming._

I open my eyes, and reality is back. I'm back on this uncomfortable bed in this damp room, the storm as angry as ever outside the window.

And I'm alone.

* * *

The next day, when Michael comes in again to check on me, I do the talking. 

"I have been thinking."

He stops his pacing — thank goodness — and raises his eyebrows at me, about as much expression as I ever get from him. "About?"

I glare at him. "You know."

"Ah," he nods then, starting to pace again — dammit. "Giving yourself to me."

"That's— Don't day it like that."

"It's the truth."

"It's gross," I breathe. "Anyway, I don't have time to argue I just wanted to— I wanted to ask something."

He stops pacing again, clasping his hands behind his back as if to say, "Ask away."

"If I did...give myself to you," I pause, shuddering at the thought, "where would I be?"

"You'd be with me. As my vessel," he replies, looking at me like I'm an idiot.

"No, I mean, I know I would be. But in my head. That's where. Where would I be there?"

"That depends," Michael replies, tilting his head. "If you, like this previous owner once was, choose to resist, I have my methods. But if you are quiet, I can...make a form of a paradise for you. It isn't hard to do and it keeps you out of my way."

Of course. It has to benefit him in some way, obviously, or he wouldn't consider it. "Well, trust me, I'm mouthy."

"I know."

"But there'd be a paradise?"

"Of sorts."

Of sorts. That's good enough for me, honestly. I chew on my bottom lip, reminding myself of how long it's been. Reminding myself of how much longer it could be. Reminding myself that I don't even know if my brothers are looking for me.

They probably think I'm dead. They're probably more worried about the Nephilim — Jack. They're probably not...worried about me.

It's been six months. It's been so long that it wouldn't surprise me if they had given up. I'm really not worth all the worry.

"Your thoughts are extremely loud."

"Then stop listening," I snap.

"It's hard not to."

"Get out of my head."

"I don't need to be inside your head to hear your contemplation," he replies smoothly, beginning his pacing again. "I have been in this vessel for a very long time. Longer than any of my others. And even it is beginning to fade. But I have never come into contact with someone like you. A vessel so powerful that I am considering leaving one that isn't necessarily slowing me down." He stops to look at me, something he does before a conversation is about to be over. "I would make a paradise for you, Joy. You have the strongest memories for it. If you give yourself to me, and you let me guide your vessel, I will make sure to keep you in paradise. Somewhere where you can forget about all of the darkness I can see inside of you. Somewhere where that all goes away."

I take a deep breath. Am I really considering this?

"I can put you in a place with the man you love. Where betrayal does not exist and the heartbreak isn't real."

"I'll think about it."

"You've been thinking about it for six months."

"Give me a day," I bargain. "Come back tomorrow and we can...get everything settled."

"A day?"

I nod. One last day with my true self. Where I have control. That's all I need.

"One day," he confirms with a nod. "I will give you one day."

"Thank you," I say, feeling the most awkward I ever have.

All he does is nod. And he's gone again.

I blink at the empty space now in front of me where he once stood. I sit myself down on the edge of my makeshift bed, taking a deep breath.

Outside it's still storming. Not a day goes by when it doesn't.

Michael said there's a war raging outside — or at least, I've heard the Angels talking again.

There's too many of them here, so it is hard to decipher. But when they are close, in this building, I can hear them clear as day. Not that I'd admit that to Michael by any means, but I can. I don't think he's been able to tell.

I hear them talk of a Resistance, which gave me hope at first...until I heard of the numerous executions they'd done. And just a few days ago, when they executed some of the Inner Circle members — basically the top guys who run things. And if those guys are dropping like flies, the Resistance may no longer exist in a few days or weeks. Not long enough for me to even consider breaking out of here to find them. It'd be too risky in the first place, not to mention stupid, but if they're gone in a week, then I'd be back in the same place.

Helpless with nowhere to go.

At least here I'm sheltered. The lightning storm doesn't hurt me and I'm protected around the clock. Albeit by someone who wants to take over my body, but I'm still protected.

Besides, if I ran, I don't see myself getting very far. I'm tagged. Not literally, but I know Michael can sense me in the same way I can sense him and the other Angels — he's only stronger because he's the only Archangel here. I can sense his presence from farther away than I can the others.

I can always sense his protection. I hate to say I have gotten used to it now. It's been six months, so it's become part of my normal, I guess.

And I'm doing nothing here besides sitting and thinking and sleeping.

I hate to say I've dreamt of being with Ketch every night. Probably more often than that. I always dream of him and I always wake up thinking he's here...but he's not. And he's not the guy from my dreams.

And I know that. That's exactly what is so frustrating. I know he is not the guy I dream about. I know he's gone. But I wish he wasn't.

I wish I didn't kill him. I wish that wasn't my only option back then, but I know it was. If I didn't, he was going to hurt Dean or try to hurt me. I did what I had to do. I guess.

I just miss him. So much.

Paradise doesn't sound so bad.

Endless nights in the hotel suite with Ketch. Endless fancy dinners in an outfit he picked out. Endless rides on the back of his motorcycle, my arms around his waist. Endless cheap diner food to entertain me. Endless teasing about his accent. Endless teasing about my long-winded agreements.

All of it would be endless. All the good days would be endless.

I remember when I thought they were endless. And I want that back, my goodness, I just want it all back.

And Michael could give me the good days. He could make me oblivious to it all. I could stay in the good days with...with my Arthur. 

_can you imagine?_


	5. i'm jack.

Michael has yet to check on me today.

Something is happening. What exactly that is, well, I have no idea. I just know it's something, but the words they're speaking make no sense. Talk of an intruder and breaking said intruder's mind, but nothing more.

And it's frustrating. I'm ready to get this show on the road, for lack of a better metaphor. I'm ready to get out of here — or not really, but you get what I mean. I'm ready to see Arthur again.

I had another dream. It was longer than the last. We were making dinner in our home.  _Our_  home. Somewhere in the countryside of England, where we were able to get away from it all.

It hurt.

I close my eyes as I recount the dream. Letting my heart ache all over again. And that's when I hear it. Clear as day.

"You're sure this...half-breed is our ticket to the other side?"

Half-breed.

_Half-breed._

Jack?

No...he's only supposed to be six months old, there's no way he's here and if he is, he's better off dead. This world isn't kind to humans. It obviously isn't going to be kind to a  _baby_ , regardless of the fact that he's a Nephilim.

I lay back down on the bed, closing my eyes. A particularly loud burst of thunder sounds outside my window, causing me to groan.

Just one day. One day, with some sunlight. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently it is for this place. I haven't asked, but I have a feeling the sun hasn't shone on this Earth for decades, maybe longer. It's unsettling what the darkness can do to people after so long.

There's a loud  _thud_  outside my room, which I automatically assume is something other than what it really is. But then I hear my door opening a second later, and relief floods through me.

I've made up my mind. I'm ready. I'm going to give myself to Michael. Spend an endless amount of time with Arthur in my head. Have an endless amount of good days. And let Michael have full control.

But it's not Michael who walks through my door, in fact, no one  _walks_  through. Someone is thrown through the doorway, onto the ground.

I scramble to sit up on the corner on the bed, pulling my knees into my chest. I've never seen this person before, and I'm hoping more than ever right now that this isn't a trap set up by Michael.

The kid coughs loudly, groaning from the pain that has no doubt shot up through his spine from being tossed like a rag doll onto the hard floor. He can't be any older than 16, maybe 17. But he doesn't look like he's from here at all.

No...Jack is supposed to be a baby. This can't be.

"Joy?"

My eyes snap to his. "Please tell me your name is not Jack."

He looks confused. "It...It is. I'm Jack."

"Christ, what is going on?" I mutter. "You're supposed to be six months old."

I'm supposed to be with Arthur by now. Where the hell is Michael?

"I...grew up."

"I see that," I deadpan. "What are you doing here?"

"Your brothers — Sam and Dean — they sent me here."

"Are they here?"

"No..."

"Oh," I breathe. "Thank god."

They don't need to experience this world. And better yet, they don't need to experience their little sister give herself to an archangel. If Michael goes after them while wearing my body, then...well, whatever. I won't be around to notice or be aware of it.

"Wait...Jack, how did you get here?"

He looks confused again. "I opened a door."

"To another universe?" I ask, skeptical as ever. "You can do that?"

"I— Sam and Dean— We were coming to save you."

What?

"But something went wrong and now...it's just me."

Brilliant. Just, brilliant. Something always goes wrong. But I'm not worried about my brothers right now, they can handle themselves. I'm worried about this six-month-old Nephilim in front of me who obviously doesn't understand why something went wrong or why it's just him here now. And now he's under this same roof and is no doubt being targeted by Michael and— everything just got a lot more complicated just now.

"And Michael..." Jack continues. "I tried to fight him, but he was in my head. He wants me to use my powers, but I don't know why..."

To open the door. To get to my universe.

Of course.

"I do," I admit, licking my lips. "I've seen what he wants to do. He...wants to march an army into our world—"

"And he wants me to open the door."

I nod.

"But I won't," he shakes his head defiantly. "He can't make me. I don't care how much he hurts me, I won't do it."

I chuckle, leaning my head back against the wall. "With an attitude like that, I almost believe you."

"Almost?"

"Michael isn't— He doesn't play nice. That's not his game. So he won't give you a choice, is all I'm saying."

"Is that why you're still here?" He questions. "Has he given you a choice?"

"Sort of..." I sigh. "But that's complicated and you— You don't need to worry about me, okay?"

"But you're my family."

"Family?" I nearly laugh. "I just met you, kid."

"But Sam and Dean and Cas, they're my family, too. So are you."

"Well, that's sweet," I offer a half-smile.

"I'm gonna get you out of here."

I really don't want you to. "Give it your best shot." I close my eyes. "Let me know when you've got something."

I hear rustling, so I crack my eyes open to see Jack standing from the floor, looking around the room. He's curious as ever, I can tell, but I don't count on him finding much.

And he doesn't. He stands by the window, looking out, for the longest time.

And when I can sense Michael making plans to make his way toward this room, I scoot to the edge of the bed.

"Hey Jack?"

The boy turns his head from the window, furrowing his eyebrows.

I sigh. "When Michael comes in here, stay quiet, okay? Don't do anything. Just let him and I...handle what we've got to handle, okay?"

"What are you talking about?"

I don't want to spell it out for him because the last thing I need is this finding its way back to my brothers. "Michael and I have a deal. And it's time for us both to hold up our ends of the bargain. And it's mutual, so I don't want you to try to stand in the way." I pause, sensing his concern. "I'll be fine."

I'm going to see the love of my life again. I'm going to be happy again. It's all going to be okay.

"No," he nearly shouts, catching me off guard. "No. We're getting out of here."

"Jack..."

"This window. I can break through," he explains quickly, his hand already on the bars. "I'm strong. I can save us both."

"I don't need to be saved, Jack, I'm fine—"

"I'm getting us out of here," he insists, and before he gives me any room to question him, his eyes begin glowing yellow.

My eyes widen in shock, my legs straightening to make me stand from the bed. I watch in awe as this kid— this Nephilim boy literally melts the bars on the window, shoving the metal out onto the ground below us.

Oh my god.

"Jack!" I scream, rushing over to him. My heart is racing — or maybe it's not. I can't really tell. "What the hell?"

"We have to go," he pleads, gesturing to the window. "I promised I'd save you."

"Jack..." I can feel Michael getting closer.

Arthur. I'd see Arthur again. I'd get to feel him again.

But Jack. Jack is standing in front of me. I can't let this kid go out there alone. I at least have some experience from the short time I was out there with Lucifer, but experience nonetheless. He wouldn't survive.

Or maybe he would. He's pretty intelligent, I'm learning.

But he's still only six months old. And while he is intelligent, he's incredibly naive.

And I...Michael can sense me. I can still sense him. I can always find my way back to him, or call out to him as soon as I get Jack to safety or at least somewhere safe enough.

I weigh the options, my heart aching and brain screaming because I know what I should do. I know.

So I do.

I let Jack guide me out of the window, and we hit the ground running without looking back.

* * *

Back in the building, Michael throws the door to the room open, eyes scanning for his new vessel. He can't sense her.

And it's because she isn't here. She's gone. Along with the boy.

"Find her. And bring her back to me," he growls the orders out to Zachariah.

"And the boy?"

"Kill him," Michael says easily. "If he won't follow my orders, we'll find another way without him."

Zachariah nods, turning to head out the door.

"And Zachariah — don't fail me again."


	6. do i look stupid to you?

"Alright, check this out," Sam gains Dean's attention, the older brother's eyes focusing on the tablet in his younger sibling's hands. "This is the surveillance footage of the last victim before she was kidnapped and killed."

In the midst of looking for a way to find Joy – and now save Jack as well – the boys have been doing what they always do: working cases. This one in particular being witches are being murdered ruthlessly all over the country. And someone is looking for Rowena.

"She turned down an alley, and that's when she got grabbed..."

"Wait, stop. Stop, stop," Dean furrows his eyebrows.

"Stop?"

"There." Dean points at the screen, disbelief in his eyes as he tells Sam, "Blow that up."

Sam does, and the sight has his heart falling into his stomach. "Is that? No."

"Ketch," Dean growls. "How is that possible?"

"It's not possible. That— That can't be Ketch."

"Joy shot him. Clean through the head," Dean reminds both his brother and himself.

"Exactly," Sam exclaims. "So that can't be Ketch."

"What? Are you kidding me? You think I forget the face of the guy who tried to kill me? And who hurt our little sister?" Dean shakes his head. "That's him.  _And_  he's thirty feet away from the girl who got tortured and murdered. I say case solved."

"Say it is Ketch," Sam compromises, "which I still don't understand, why is he here?"

"I don't know, man, would you like to ask him?'

Sam gives Dean a tired look. His dry humor can be irritating. "We have to find him."

And they do.

* * *

"One more time," Dean paces the floor around Arthur Ketch – who is currently tied to a chair. "How are you not dead?"

The familiar face sitting before the brothers is becoming frustrated. "One more time," Ketch mocks. "Why should I be?"

"Because we killed you!" Sam snaps.

"Apparently not!"

That's it for Dean. He clocks the man in the jaw, nearly sending him falling out of the chair they have him tied to.

Dean bends down in front of Ketch, restraining himself from strangling him right there. They need answers. Dean can strangle him later. "Don't mess with us, okay? You already killed Mick. You killed Eileen. You tried to kill us. You messed our sister right up. We're already pissed off. So I wouldn't do that." He glances down at Ketch's hand, chuckling to himself. "Oh, look at that. You got rid of your tattoo. Was it a stick-on? It was a stick-on, wasn't it? Yeah."

"What?" Ketch breathes. "Tattoo? I would never get— Oh," he drops his head. "I think I know what's going on here."

"Really?" Sam asks, incredulous as ever as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"You have me confused with my brother," Ketch replies, like it's just that simple.

Dean isn't buying it. "Your brother?"

"Arthur," Ketch cries. "I'm Alexander. His twin."

Dean has to stop himself from laughing. He bends down again, staring Ketch right in the eyes. "Do I look stupid to you?"

Alexander glances between the two brothers. "Is that a trick question?"

Dean wastes no time in landing another punch to Ketch's face, only furthering the amount of bruising and blood loss the man already has from face wounds alone.

Sam is next to speak up. "So you're seriously gonna sit there with a straight face and tell us that you have an evil twin?"

"If reducing things to that black and white level helps you, fine." Alexander pauses, trying to reel his anger back in. "Arthur was the family success story. The...headliner, our Donny Osmond."

Dean chuckles. "Hm. Alright, Marie. What's your story?"

Alexander sighs, a bit of relief washing over him. "Arthur and I attended a feeder school for the British Men of Letters."

Sam interrupts. "Kendricks. We know all about it. Just get to the point."

"When it came time to initiate into the organization, I...fled. It wasn't for me. And if they were to find me...I'd be dead."

"It's really funny because, you know, your name never came up," Sam counters.

"Well, no doubt," Alexander shakes his head. "Arthur felt I brought shame to the family and to the Men of Letters. He had to work twice as hard to make up for my...public failure. And I had to work thrice as hard to disappear, live in the shadows. Do my work."

"What work?"

"Killing monsters. All over the world, for a fee. A Hunter."

"A mercenary," Dean corrects.

Alexander glares at the older Winchester. "A man with my sort of training has limited options."

"The witches – who's bankrolling their deaths?"

"I'm doing that pro bono."

"Why do you keep asking for Rowena MacLeod?" Sam fires back.

"She's a witch, isn't she?" Alexander answers like it's obvious. "Isn't that what we Hunters do? Kill the bad thing?"

* * *

"So...I've dug up a pretty hefty paper trail on Alexander Ketch," Sam announces upon hearing his brother step into the library. "Birth certificates, U.S. Visa and passport, academic records from Kendricks for Arthur and Alexander."

"Sam—"

"Dean, I went into the hard drive I took from the Brits' U.S. base. There are academic initiation papers drawn up for both Ketches with Alexanders remaining incomplete."

"Okay, I don't care how good his story looks. I ain't buying it."

"Alright. For arguments sake, we know Joy shot Arthur, and we know we dumped his corpse into the waste canal. So even if this is weird, yes, it's weird, but we eat weird every day."

"Yeah, but there's "Ripley's Believe It or Not!" weird, and then there's weird that's just straight up bull. Now I'm thinking that Ketch weird is door number two."

Sam decides to go straight to the source: Alexander.

"So...even though you and your brother both saw my brother, Arthur, shot point-blank, you still question his demise?"

Sam chuckles, sitting down in the chair he drug over a second before. "Yeah. It—It's probably smart to question everything about Arthur Ketch."

"Probably, yes. I know I'm still trying to figure him out," Alexander chuckles.

"The Arthur Ketch we knew was sadistic," Sam begins. "Amoral, predatory, loyal to no one."

"You're wrong there," Alexander interrupts. "Not amoral, and actually, loyal to a fault."

Sam narrows his eyes.

"What you witnessed was an incredibly good company man. Not an easy job."

"Sounds like it would be easier to be 'Alexander' than to be Arthur, yeah?" Sam pries.

"To a degree. No glory, yes, but no...burdens either."

"Hm," Sam nods. "You admire him. Maybe, uh, wanted to be like him."

"Like you, I understood my brother's issues and why he did what he did. I suspect, if he were here, he'd...admit regret to some of the things he did to your family."

Sam nods, studying Alexander's face. "I think it's a little too late."

* * *

"I should say," Ketch interrupts the conversation between Sam and Dean.

Dean looks at Ketch, his eyes flashing anger when he looks back at Sam. "What the hell is this?"

"He's in chains," Sam argues. "There's no bathroom in the Armory, and he hadn't eaten in like a day and a half."

"Do I look like I care?"

"Judging by your rage," Alexander speaks, "my brother must've behaved very badly. I understand your...sister is the one who killed him?"

"And he had it coming," Dean snaps. "After what he did to her."

Alexander nods. "And...how is she, now?"

Dean clenches his jaw. "She's good." He takes a deep breath, looking at Sam. "Would you put him back?"

"What's become of your angel?"

Dean cocks his gun. "Not sure. But I am sure about you, Arthur."

Sam backs away, grabbing Arthur's weapon and moving to stand next to Dean. Ketch doesn't put up a fight, instead simply holding up his hands as Dean aims right at Ketch's heart.

"You know, I gotta hand it to you. That paper trail you cooked up, pretty impressive. But my gut told me it was baloney. Looks like my gut was right. See I've been in it with you, Arthur. I've seen your moves. We've gone toe-to-toe. And I saw that look in your eye when you asked about our sister. So why don't you cut the crap?"

"Actually, everything I told you was true. Well, except for the, uh, twin brother thing. I am separated from the British Men of Letters, lying low because they will kill me for desertion. I make a rather good living as a sort of soldier of fortune, deep underground, for a certain sort of clientele that appreciate my skill set. And I do use the name Alexander."

"How is it that you're still alive?"

"I believe you're familiar with the witch Rowena MacLeod."

"So?"

"She was captured by the British Men of Letters some years back. I discovered she'd sewn a powerful charm into her body, that could bring her back should she be killed. I struck a deal wherein she did the same for me, in return for allowing her to escape."

"So...after we dumped your body?"

"Good as new." Arthur tries not to smile. "Only problem is, once the device is used, it needs to be recharged."

"Which is why you're looking for Rowena. Well, sorry. Lucifer burned her up. She's dead."

"Is she?"

"Why'd you come here? You could've run."

"Did it ever occur to you, Dean, that I might actually be one of the good guys?"

"No. Not even once."

"You and I were soldiers in opposing armies who were at war."

Dean smirks, raising his gun. "Well, the thing about war is, one side wins."

Arthur nods. "I suppose you're right."

In a flash of light and smoke, Ketch disappears out the door and onto his motorcycle. Dean tries to shoot out his tires, but it's no use.

Arthur Ketch escapes again.


	7. brave, but sad.

"Jack...Jack! Jack, slow down!"

"We have to get out of here!" He shouts back.

"I know!" I yell, picking up speed to grab Jack's arm, yanking him backwards. "But just, slow down. Give me a second." I look around, the sky raging and lightning destroying the land everywhere we look.

"How far until we're safe?"

"Out here?" I shake my head. "I don't think there is such a thing as safe. Come on."

I begin walking, keeping Jack close by. Angels aren't exactly the good guys here. Their status here is almost equal to Demons in our universe. So, the last thing we need is someone finding out Jack is half-Archangel.

"Wait," I press a hand against Jack's chest. "There's someone over there," I murmur. "Here."

We duck down behind a what looks like an abandoned car, keeping our backs pressed against the door. I glance around the corner, seeing the two men advancing our way.

"Shit," I mutter. They look like they're Angels. But I can't really tell.

The next thing we know, there's rifles being pointed at our chests. We scramble to our feet, and I put myself forward in front of Jack.

"Are you Angel, Demon, or human?"

"Human," I answer. "We're human."

"Joy Winchester?" I furrow my eyebrows as the man moves the bandanna from around his mouth. "It's Bobby. Singer."

"Bobby?" I breathe. "My brothers. They told me you were here."

"Your brothers?"

"Dean and Sam."

"Oh, I remember," Bobby almost smiles. "The day trippers, right?"

"Do you...know me?"

"Knew you," he pauses to shrug. "The other you. She...Well, hell, I thought you were a damn ghost. Turns out you're just from a whole other world. Which is weirder...when you think about it. Who's the kid?"

"Uh..."

"I'm Jack."

"Friend of the family," I clarify, before he has any time to ask any more questions.

"Well," Bobby shakes his head. "Good enough for me. You better come with us."

Without giving it a second thought, we follow Bobby.

After what feels like hours of walking from dodging Angels – that Bobby and his friend shoot down without question – we make it to what Bobby is calling home base, for now.

"Well...welcome to home, sweet home," Bobby announces. He stops walking and turns around, giving us a look that just says  _this is it_.

There are makeshift tents everywhere, hammocks tied to trees, people on crutches, some without the ability to move at all, so they're seated around various fires in pits scattered around. The trees surrounding us are taller than any I've had the pleasure of seeing in real life, so it already feels like we're pretty protected.

"What happened to them?" Jack asks suddenly.

"Angels happened," Bobby replies.

"Angels did this?"

Bobby shakes his head. "They've done worse. Two days ago, Angels dive-bombed a colony in San Antonio. 400 people. Not a soul left alive. This ain't a war...this is extermination."

I sigh. He needs to know...at least part of it. "Bobby...Michael, he'll be looking for us."

"Don't worry," Bobby smiles softly. "We got protocols protecting us. Wardings, lookouts in the trees, and a few other tricks up our sleeves. Besides. The Joy I knew saved my ass many times. It'd be rude not to return the favor."

"Thank you," I whisper. At least that means we're safe for now. As long as I can make sure Jack is safe here, then I can leave tonight. Get back to Michael and get out of here.

Bobby leads us over to their makeshift kitchen – not really a kitchen at all – where we can get something to drink and eat while we get settled in. He shows us to his tent, the only one empty enough where we can get some rest.

But we don't rest, not right now.

Jack plays with the children here, making hand puppets to pass the time. I watch from a far, smiling genuinely for the first time in months. Their laughter is contagious, and I know they probably haven't laughed this hard in a while either.

"Go easy," Bobby suggests when he comes back to my side, handing me a cup. "I added a nip of whiskey."

Oh, Bobby. "Thanks." I take a long sip, loving the taste. Another thing I haven't had in months: some good alcohol.

I catch Bobby staring at me as I drink, though, causing me to let out a nervous laugh.

"I don't mean to stare," Bobby apologizes. "Just...you look just like her. Give or take a year or two."

"What was she like?"

"Joy was...a complicated girl. Brave, but sad. Full of regret."

"Let me guess," I chuckle, "she made a stupid deal."

"Opposite. She didn't make one," he shakes his head. "I met her when she saved me from an Angel attack close to here. She was barely fifteen. But had no family. She was like a daughter to me – when she let me help her."

"Yeah," I smile. That sounds about right. "The Bobby in my world was like a dad to me and my brothers."

He smiles then, nodding. The laughter from the kids behind us gets louder, prompting Bobby to turn around and see Jack making more realistic looking hand puppets— He's using his powers.

Secrets out, I guess.

"What is he? A witch? Psychic?"

No witch or psychic could do that. I take a deep breath. Maybe since he's only  _half_ , it'll be okay. And Bobby's a nice guy. Maybe he'll keep Jack safe for me.

"Jack's a...Nephilim."

"Excuse me?"

"He-He's half-Angel, half—"

"I know what it means. What I don't get is why the hell you would bring one into my camp. You know what Angels have done to us. You—"

I sigh, "Bobby, he's more human than—"

"I want him gone by morning."

This could not have gone any worse. But I guess now I have no choice. "If he goes, I go with him."

"Well then, that's your choice."

Never mind. He's a lot different from the Bobby I knew. "Okay."

"Listen, Joy, when this war started, when Lucifer and his demon army rose outta hell, we thought the Angels were on our side. They turned on us. He will too."

On that note, Bobby walks away, leaving me in silence – aside from the children's laughter. And looking for a new plan.

* * *

Jack and I sleep – or rather, I sleep, I don't think Jack does – in Bobby's tent, but Bobby doesn't. I have no clue where he is or what he's up to. He hasn't spoken to me since last night, and I still haven't told Jack we have to leave.

And in the midst of all this, I still hear the Angels talking. Michael has Zachariah looking for us, as I expected, but now he wants Jack dead. I barely know the kid, but I know he doesn't deserve to die, and I'll be damned if I let Zachariah touch him.

I think of leaving. Of praying to Michael to come to take me and leave Jack out of this. But I don't know for sure that once I let Michael in, he won't come back to hurt Jack.

It's a lot of back and forth. A lot more than I planned on or feel like dealing with.

When I wake up, Jack isn't there. I swing my legs over the edge of the cot, stumbling out of the tent and into the morning light.

It's quiet for it to be morning. I'd expect everyone to be rushing around since it isn't storming at the moment. But the fact that it isn't storming worries me...because it's stormed every day for six months.

I shake the feeling and start looking for Jack. It isn't hard to find him. He's over by a fire pit that is just smoking. When he spots me, he smiles and rushes to me.

"You're awake." He's beaming.

"You really like it here, don't you?" I smile sadly.

"These people...they're all so brave."

"But we can't stay, Jack," I blurt.

I watch his smile crumble, and I want nothing more than to tell Bobby off for making me do this, but I can't. This is his camp. And he's not the Bobby I knew. But regardless, it's his camp, and I have to respect his orders. Even if it burns my blood.

"Why not?" He pauses. "Because of me?"

"It's not fair," I admit. "I'm sorry."

Before I can get another word out to assure Jack we'll find someplace else safe, a siren is wailing, startling us both. Everyone is yelling, Bobby the loudest as he comes out of nowhere.

"Get to cover! We've got incoming!"

Incoming? What the hell is incoming?

I look to the sky, finding what looks literally like a burning meteor flying our way. Without hesitating, Jack grabs me and tugs me out of the way, onto the ground. I scream loudly from the noise rattling my eardrums, Jack's body thrown over mine.

_I know you can hear me._

Zachariah.

Shit.

I push Jack off of me, scrambling to my feet and grabbing his arm. "Run!" We take off through the woods, pushing branches out of the way as we run as fast as we can.

We slow down when we see someone coming our way, and as we get closer I see that it's Bobby.

"You – This is your fault."

"What?"

"He used his powers. Must be how they found us."

I move to open my mouth, to tell Bobby the truth about me so he'll stop pinning everything on Jack, but Jack speaks first.

"I didn't – I didn't mean to."

"Well, ain't that just gravy."

I glare at Bobby for a second before realizing that won't help anything. I can't change his opinion about Jack right now. We don't have time. "What can we do to help?"

"Here. Take this." He hands me a pistol from his waistband. "There's a grain cellar. Escape tunnels running underneath. Round up any kids you can find. Get 'em safe."

"I'll come with you."

I nod to Jack, but Bobby stops him. "You've done enough."

"Jack just..." I sigh. I hear someone scream. We're running out of time. "Find someplace, and hide, okay?"

He nods, and that's enough before Bobby takes off running. Once he's out of sight, I tell Jack which way to run before I take off back toward the camp.

_Find the Vessel. Kill the rest._

"Goddamnit," I groan, the ringing in my ears getting louder the closer I get to the camp. I don't know why it's harder to hear now—

"Joy Winchester."

I turn around, the gun held tightly in my hands and ready to shoot. My answer is standing before me. Zachariah and what looks like five other Angels surrounding me.

But no sign of Michael.

"The half-breed. Where is he?"

"I thought your orders were to find me," I reply, raising an eyebrow. Hey, stalling is one of my strong suits. I also couldn't stand Zachariah in my world, and this one isn't much better.

"And kill the kid," Zachariah clarifies, emotionless. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "Why don't you just—"

"Stop!"

All of the Angels turn their heads toward the voice...the voice that belongs to Jack.

I told you to run, damnit.

"Perfect timing," Zachariah smirks. He begins to walk toward Jack but he doesn't make it far.

"I said, stop!" Jack yells, his eyes glowing brightly as he raises his hand, suspending all of the Angels in the air before— making them vanish?

I blink. The Angels that were once surrounding me are gone in a flash of blue light and crumbling ash to the ground.

Holy shit.

"More incoming!" Bobby screams, running up behind us.

But Jack is quicker.

"No!" He yells before he raises his hand to the sky, destroying those as well without hesitation.

"Holy shit," I blurt aloud. "Jack!"

His eyes return to normal when he looks back at me, and for a moment it looks like he thinks he's in trouble.

"Well, kid," Bobby shakes his head in disbelief. "I don't know what else to say except thank you."

Jack smiles softly. "I had to come back. Sam and Dean, they wouldn't run. They'd stay and fight. These Angels, what they're doing, they're not gonna stop. As long as Michael's out there, this war will never be over."

"So...what are you saying?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.

But Jack is entirely sure in his decision. "I have to kill him."


	8. bull in a china shop.

Another month passes, and the brothers find themselves running into Ketch more often than they'd like. Once when they were on the hunt for Lucifer and Ketch happened to have the same intel, again when he saved them from Lucifer, and again when he stumbled into the bunker late one night with the Archangel Gabriel.

In this one month, the boys – or rather, Cas managed to find the spell needed to open the rift to the alternate universe where Joy and Jack are trapped.

Dean goes in alone. With Ketch.

Sam and Cas don't like the idea either, but someone has to be in their world to take care of Gabriel who...isn't doing well at all.

Nevertheless, since Ketch essentially helped Gabriel escape while simultaneously sabotaging his previous working relations with the last Knight of Hell, Asmodeus, Dean allows Ketch to tag along.

"Well...here we are."

If Dean had the time to roll his eyes at Ketch's remark, he would. But he doesn't. He spins around in a circle, taking in his surroundings. He's been here before, obviously, but it wasn't snowing here before. And now snow is covering the ground in a thick blanket.

"You do know where we are, don't you?"

That earns Ketch a glare from Dean.

"Because, not to be a nag, but we've only got 24 hours before—"

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up and gimme a minute."

"—the rift closes," Ketch finishes his sentence with a sigh.

"Look, we just got spin-cycled through space and time, okay? And yes, this is different than my last drop-by." Dean looks around again before returning to Ketch. "And what's this 'we' shit, huh? You came here to save yourself, so go save yourself. Somewhere else." Dean begins walking away, hoping Ketch will get the picture, but he doesn't.

"Actually, I thought I could help," Ketch suggests.

"What?"

"Find the boy. And your...sister. She's in danger. I owe her that."

"You know if she sees you she'll probably kill you," Dean reminds him. "Again."

"Perhaps," Ketch agrees. "But you don't know where you are or what's out there or even—You get the picture. Would having a little bit of backup really be so bad?"

So, because Dean realizes they don't have the time to argue, he walks away, and allows Ketch to follow.

This is a much different spot from before. Before it was dark and stormy, not quiet and snowy. The river is still running, snow is still falling, and it looks like the sun is shining behind the clouds. This place looks...normal.

Until Dean spots Angels on the bridge above them.

"Down, down, down," Dean hisses, shoving Ketch over toward branches that are thicker than the rest.

From there they watch the Angels as they plan to execute the humans on the bridge, supposedly for "high crimes of fomenting rebellion against the Archangel Michael."

One by one the humans have the black covers ripped off their heads and they are killed by the Angels. Until one familiar face is seen.

"No...Charlie?" Dean murmurs.

"She's with The Resistance. Inner Circle. She's met with the Nephilim and the Vessel, Joy. Michael will want her at the Northern camp for interrogation."

And before Dean has a chance to act, the Angels have vanished with Charlie.

Dean walks faster and talks less after that encounter. Ketch tries to keep up but is getting more and more frustrated as Dean stomps through the snow like he knows this world – because, for the record, he doesn't.

After a while of walking, Dean realizes he doesn't hear any footsteps behind him this time.

"Come on," he yells out. "What's the hold-up?"

Ketch emerges slowly from behind a tree. "Oh, just practicing stealth," he hisses. "You know, the art of infiltrating a hostile and unfamiliar environment whilst remaining undetected. Hence, 'free.' Hence, 'effective.' You, I see prefer the bull in a China shop technique."

"No, I prefer the let's find Charlie before the Angels turn her inside-out technique."

"Remind me again why we're risking everything to find this girl?"

"Because she's seen my sister. She's seen Jack. We need her."

"And you're sure this is what that's about?" Ketch counters, disbelieving. "You're sure it's not personal?"

Dean looks for a second like he wants to tell the truth, and Ketch is waiting for the truth, but the truth never comes. Dean glances at his watch before looking at Ketch with raised eyebrows.

"We're running outta time. Let's pick up the pace."

He turns and walks away without giving Ketch a chance to argue. The latter stays behind, still wondering why Dean is willing to risk this mission to find Charlie over his own sister. Ketch is biased, and always will be, when it comes to Joy, so he can't help but feel he'd be better off leaving Dean and saving himself somewhere else like Dean originally suggested.

But a gunshot in the near distance breaks Ketch out of his trance and sends him running toward the source, finding someone wrestling Dean to the ground – and Dean's shoulder is hurt.

Ketch shoves the man off Dean's back, sending him flying into the snow. He kicks the man's gun out of the way, pulling his knife on the man's neck.

"Where were you going to take him?" And when the man continues struggling, Ketch adds, "You do want to live, yes?"

Dean scrambles to his feet, shooting his gun twice into the air and forcing the fighting to stop. "You heard him. Where were you gonna take me?"

"You think I'm gonna tell you?"

Dean shoots the man in the leg, and that's enough for him to start talking. "The silo."

"What silo!"

"P.O.W. camp," the man confesses. "Four, five hours from here. Follow the road."

"Okay, thanks," Dean deadpans before he knocks the man in the head with the back of his gun, effectively knocking him unconscious on the snowy floor.

* * *

"That Hunter may've been a bumpkin, but his weaponry is cutting-edge. These," Ketch holds up a sleeve of bullets, "I don't even recognize."

"Yeah, that's..." Dean pauses to take a deep, struggling breath. "Angel-killing bullets," he shows his own in his pistol. "Might wanna hang on to those."

Ketch hums at the new invention, meanwhile Dean exhales sharply, the pain in his shoulder radiating and pulsing wildly.

"You don't look good."

"Yeah, well, you're not my type either. I'm fine." Dean remarks.

"We'll take a break," Ketch suggests. "Your wound may be more serious than we thought."

"Nah, he barely hit me," Dean shakes his head. "Come on, we don't have time for this."

"Eh, by all means," Ketch sighs, learning by now not to argue. "What was it with you and this Earthly Charlie anyway? Old girlfriend? Let me guess, she broke your heart—Dean!"

Dean has fallen at the base of a nearby tree, his breathing rapid and eyesight quickly beginning to blur.

"Oh, God, you're burning up," Ketch mutters, taking his hand away from Dean's forehead. "Let's take a look at that wound."

"No, I'm fine, we gotta keep moving—"

"Do shut up, hm?"

Ketch rips Dean's shirt open, finding the bullet wound completely void of blood. It's...black, and the blackness is spreading like spiderweb veins from the source.

It's only a matter of seconds before Dean is losing consciousness against the tree. Ketch swings his bag off his shoulders, quickly finding the first-aid kit he has tucked away.

"Taro root, trace of arsenic...Basidiomycota, and..."

"Why don't you just skip the birdseed and gimme the flask," Dean suggests, waking just a few short moments later.

Ketch ignores his comment. "Your shortness of breath and delirium are symptoms of a poison the Men of Letters use to disable monsters in the field."

"Of course it is."

"My guess is that the bounty hunter used a similar toxin to coat his bullets to hobble his prey...at first."

"What do you mean 'at first'?"

"Well if the antidote isn't administered, then the victim dies a particularly gruesome death," Ketch admits, bringing the rock that the mixture is on down closer in the snow to Dean.

"You guys are such dicks."

"Yes. Well...guilty. Now, then, this will smart."

If Dean was hurting before the antidote, he hurts more when Ketch applies it. But thankfully the pain subsides enough that only a few minutes later, they're back on the main road heading to the silo.

* * *

 

They make it another hour before the darkness of the night settles in. And another hour before Dean collapses against an overturned tree.

"This is absurd. You  _must_  rest."

"Okay, I-I'll give you that anti-poison merit badge award, okay?" Dean pats his shoulder, trying and failing to lessen the still-lingering pain with humor. "I do appreciate it. But we're running outta time. So how 'bout you rest, I'm gonna keep going." He makes it three steps before he falls to the ground on his bag, growling out, "In five minutes."

Ketch presses his lips together. "Good plan." He sits down on the edge of one of the many boulders around. "Perhaps we can use this moment to revisit the Charlie issue."

Dean groans and turns over, propping himself up on the tree trunk. "Not gonna happen."

"To your point, we are running out of time. We don't know where your sister and Jack are. We don't even know if we'll find this Charlie, and if we do a rescue may be impossible. And stupid. I propose we return home, regroup, reinforce ourselves, and we may have a shot at saving everyone."

"Alright look, I'm gonna repeat myself. Charlie's not gonna give the Angels what they want."

" _Your_  Charlie wouldn't," Ketch snaps.

"They're gonna kill her," Dean admits, and he hates the sound of it. "And I'm not..."

"What? What's the story you're not telling me?"

"Charlie was like family. She was a sister to me. She did more for me and Sam than I can even say. And she was...she was butchered. And we couldn't get there in time, and I..." Dean shakes his head.

"You feel you failed her."

"I know I did," Dean nods.

Ketch drops his head. "That...I understand."

"Alright, well, what about your story you're not telling me?"

"Oh, I've had many failures," Ketch confesses for the first time out loud. "Friends and colleagues who died on my watch. Only difference is...I didn't try to save them. 'Duty,' and all that. Rubbish."

Despite the sensitivity of the moment, Dean says, "Well, you do suck."

Ketch scoffs. He shouldn't expecting anything more from Dean. But that doesn't matter. "What the hell?" He stands, holding out his hand to Dean. "Perhaps rescuing this Charlie will wash some of the stain from my hands."

Dean takes his hand, standing from the tree trunk. "Impossible and stupid, huh?" He chuckles. "You say that like it's a bad thing." He punches Ketch's shoulder. "Come on."


End file.
